


(remember when) a part of you still hoped for what could be

by Laora



Series: Bring Down the Sky [2]
Category: Gundam 00
Genre: Gen, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora
Summary: Neil isn’t who he used to be. He’s also not as good at pretending as he thinks he is.
Series: Bring Down the Sky [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065887
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	(remember when) a part of you still hoped for what could be

**Author's Note:**

> chronological fic #2 in bdts!!! i'm so hype to write more of this!!!
> 
> alternate summary for this one: "Neil's family, including his eleven year old sister, has more emotional intelligence than most of the Ptolemy's crew, and he is not prepared to deal with that"
> 
> Also, as a note - i decided after I wrote fic 1 that Lyndsay and Amy are hard of hearing. they have genetic progressive hearing loss, so lyndsay's is significantly worse than amy's
> 
> amy gets hearing aids when she's 14. she tends to wear them regularly after that. lyndsay _has_ hearing aids, but she got them later in life, and she only wears them when she ~really needs to~. She prefers ISL
> 
> the rest of the family is fluent in ISL as well, even if it's more of a second language for them. they almost always talk to lyndsay in it while at home!!

Lockon wakes up early, the morning after.

He blinks around at his childhood bedroom for several seconds, disbelieving—listening to the heating kick on, and the laundry running, and the bass from Lyle's speakers pounding through their shared wall. (Always _always_ too loud, it used to drive him nuts, except—)

 _September 17, 2297,_ his phone tells him, and his breaths are shaky as he rubs both hands down his face. Amy—Amy's eleven, now. Eleven and a day, and Lockon's hands aren't burnt and ruined, and he and Lyle aren't holed up in the hospital, together, since the both of them panicked at the thought of being alone—

He's at home, and it's a normal Sunday morning, and _his family is still alive,_ and—

And the universe hasn't inverted, imploded, _disappeared altogether_ after the miracle he performed yesterday. He is still here, in this too-small too-scrawny body in the bedroom he hasn't seen in eleven years. His _mother_ held him close last night as he cried himself out, and his _father_ never once left his side, and it was well past midnight by the time they coaxed him up to bed. "We'll be right here when you wake up," his dad said quietly, and pulled him into a tight hug on the stair landing. His heart thumped steadily against Lockon’s cheek, and the hands holding him close were warm and strong. "Don't worry about a thing."

And he's half sure that this is all still a dream, except he is still here, he is still _here_ when he saved his family, saved those hundreds of others who should've died in the blast, and—

He dresses mechanically, does not bother to comb his hair or brush his teeth before stepping toward the stairs. Lyle, obviously, is holed up in his room, but Amy's bedroom door gapes open and empty, and he knows both his parents always (used to) wake up early—

He steps into the living room to see Amy curled up in their dad's favorite armchair. Her eyes are glued to that game Lyle got her, and she's holding her new bear tight under one arm. (It hasn't looked that pristine in over a decade—) She doesn't even seem to notice him until Lockon steps right up to her, trying to regulate his breathing and act normal.

Except this isn't normal, _none_ of this is normal, and—and—

"Hey," she says, distracted, glancing up to him before focusing back on her game.

"Hey," he says, and his voice comes out a little croaky. Amy hesitates, button-mashing for several seconds more before hitting _pause_ and looking up at him properly.

"You okay?" she asks, canting her head at him and furrowing her brows. "You're not sick again, are you?"

Lockon doesn't know. He doesn't know _anything,_ anymore, except that the more he stares at Amy, the more _real_ she becomes. He forgot the reddish tint her hair took on at the right angle. He forgot the freckles on her nose that were only visible in the sunlight. How did he forget that? She's his _sister—_

"Neil?" she asks, a little louder, and he blinks hard before focusing on her again.

"Can I get a hug?" he asks, and slaps on the grin that's fooled his friends for years. "Don't think I gave you a proper one, yesterday."

Amy blinks at him, her frown growing. But she untangles her legs, and stands up, and throws her arms around him without hesitation.

He forgot how tight her hugs always were (are), and he _oofs_ a little even as he hugs her back. She's here. She's breathing and alive and _okay._ But all he can remember is yesterday, last time, where he promised her a chili dog and promised to carry all her bags and promised—

(he _promised_ but he was a stupid teenager who took his time, and it would've been better for him to be with them in the mall, right?—maybe if he'd been there, he could've—saved them, somehow, protected Amy because that has always been his job—)

His grip grows tighter, right up until she squeaks, a little, and slaps him across the back. "Seriously, Neil," she says, wiggling free and staring up at him with a critical eye. "What's going on?"

"What, I can't hug my baby sister?" he asks, trying to sound offended and flippant, but his stomach swoops in terror as his grip falls from her shoulder. He needs to protect her— "That's my job, right?"

"You…" she trails off, and he _hates_ the worry obvious on her face. "You're acting really weird. Did Lyle say something stupid again? Do you want me to go yell at him?"

He forgot that, too: how she didn't hesitate to chew out either of them, when Lyle snapped at Lockon, or when Lockon said something thoughtless that put his brother in a black mood. He forgot so much, and he's not holding onto his sister and he is _terrified_ that she is going to disappear, consumed by a bomb consumed by fire consumed by—

He's pulled her into his arms again, apparently, because she's wriggling against his chest, trying to look up at his face. "Neil," she starts, but he shakes his head.

"It's not Lyle," he says into her hair, and she hesitates, making a questioning noise in her throat. Eventually, her arms wrap around him again, hold him tight.

"I…" he trails off, swallows. "I had a nightmare, last night," he settles on, eventually. "Where you—you got really hurt."

She breathes out heavily, and holds him tighter. "I thought you said you're too old for nightmares," she says, a laugh in her voice as she pokes at his back. "That's what you said, the other day—"

Lockon's said nothing of the sort, since he came back. It must've been something from before. "I thought it was real," he whispers. "I just—I needed to make sure you're okay."

She's quiet for a couple seconds. "I'm fine. But…" she says, and another grin's growing in her voice. "You're not getting out of clothes shopping just for this, you know. If that's what you're _actually_ doing."

Lockon checked the local news on his phone, late last night; the mall's closed for the next several days as the military sweeps it for explosives. Maybe Amy'll just talk their mom into driving them across town, instead. "Nah," he says, and his smile comes a little more naturally, this time. "I'll carry all the bags you want."

(And this time, he swears, he won't once leave her side.)

* * *

"Your brothers are going through a lot of changes right now," her mum's told her, more than once. "Starting high school is a big deal, and being a teenager is hard, so you're gonna have to be more patient with them, okay? They'll do the same thing for you, in a few years."

Amy's always loved her brothers more than anything, even when they're jerks to each other and ignore her if they're in a bad mood. She knows she's a _girl,_ and she's younger than them, and they think she's annoying, sometimes. Lyle would rather hang out with his friends than with either of them, and Amy tries not to hold it against him, because she loves her friends too, but…

But Neil's acting weirder than normal. Even more than Lyle—which is weird by itself, since Lyle's the one who has mood swings practically every day. But Neil…ever since he was sick, he looks at her differently, and his hugs are way tighter, and the way he smiles looks _wrong,_ even though she can't put her finger on why.

She leads Neil into the kitchen after she finally extricates herself from his hug; their mum’s sitting at the table, and Amy waves to get her attention. "Hey, Mum," she signs as Neil trails in behind. "Remember, you promised we’d go to the mall today—and I've got practice, so we'll need to go early—"

Her mum blinks at her, her eyes going wide as she looks between Amy and Neil, like she forgot her promise entirely. "We can go to the one across town," she says eventually, and Amy frowns. "The one down the street—the military says it's closed, today."

"Why?" Amy presses with a frown. Since when is it closed on a Sunday? When tons of people like to go shopping?

Her mum hesitates again. "They said there was some kind of security issue," she says finally. "The news didn't give any details, but… The mall across town has basically the same stores, so you shouldn't miss out on anything, right?"

She hesitates. She guesses, if the military closed it, there's not a lot they can do about it...but if Neil hadn't insisted they go somewhere else yesterday, she would've been able to—

"I guess," she says, sighing heavily and shooting a black look at Neil. That's _their_ mall, and she hangs out with her friends there all the time, and the cashier at her favorite stores actually recognized her, last time. If they'd just gone yesterday…

"Your dad needs to get to work in a few minutes," Mum says, looking apologetic, "and Lyle has plans with his friends, so it'll just be the three of us."

Amy nods. She knew that was gonna happen—she was so excited when Lyle told her, yesterday, that he canceled his hang-out to go with them. She isn't naive enough to think he'll do it two days in a row. "Neil promised he'd carry all the bags," she says with a grin, and he sighs audibly, stepping forward to ruffle her hair.

"I sure did," he says out loud, mournfully, his arm sliding down around her shoulders briefly to pull her into a side hug. She squeaks and punches his arm, and he grins at her. "Might as well get this over with."

.

If she didn't think there's something wrong with Neil before, she'd _definitely_ think so now.

He's keeping his promise—Amy drags them both to store after store, and he carries all of her bags without complaint, even when his arms start shaking with the weight and Mum offers to take some of them. But—he looks so _scared,_ all day, and she wants to ask why except she doesn't know how.

Mum asks him if he wants to wait on a bench outside the last store, just to give his arms a break, but his face gets so pale as he shakes his head violently. Amy's actually worried about him as they weave their way through the racks.

"You okay?" she asks Neil with a grin as he sits in one of the chairs by the dressing rooms, breathing heavily. He pouts up at her.

"If we keep doing this, I'm gonna have to start working out," he says, but he's smiling a little, too. He waves them both into the dressing room with their small pile of clothes, and Amy sticks her tongue out at him as the two of them walk further back. But—

She squeezes Mum’s hand to get her attention, once they’re far enough into the dressing room area. "Is Neil okay?" she asks. "He's been weird today."

She looks at Amy, a little sharply, and seems to think about it for a moment before sighing. "I'm not sure," she says, taking the dresses from Amy's arms and hanging them up on the hooks before she continues. "I think he hasn't been sleeping too well lately. Maybe that's part of it."

"He said he had a nightmare," Amy tells her, frowning a little. "When he came down this morning, he wouldn't stop hugging me."

Her mum doesn't say anything for a bit, her back turned as Amy changes into the first dress. "I don't think it's anything to worry about," she says eventually, turning back around to appraise the dress when Amy pokes her in the back. "I told you, right? Being fourteen is hard. Lyle's changed a lot, too."

"Yeah," Amy says with a sigh. It doesn't mean she's not worried about Neil, because she's _never_ seen him like this before. But if Mum isn't worried, she reassures herself that things will probably be okay. She takes a deep breath, and nods decisively, and tries on the rest of the clothes in silence.

Neil's right where they left him. He's staring intently around the store, like he's looking for something, and he jumps badly when Amy taps his shoulder. He spins quickly, standing up, and she sees something on his face that she doesn't understand or recognize before he focuses on her. Then the look is gone, replaced with that not-quite-right smile he's been wearing all week, and he sighs loudly as he reaches down for the bags.

"How many more am I gonna have to carry?" he moans, and Amy grins.

"Just one, probably," she promises. "I'm only getting two more dresses."

"I'm pretty sure you're getting more clothes today than I even _have,"_ he says, rolling his eyes a little as he follows them to the check-out. But he takes the new bag without complaint, shifting the others further up his arms as they step out into the main drag.

"Can we go to the food court before we leave?" Amy asks their mum, bouncing on her toes. She hesitates and checks her watch, and Amy knows practice is in half an hour, but she's gotta get Neil _something_ to thank him for being dragged all over the mall.

"So long as we're quick," her mum says with a smile, and Amy grins back before darting down the hall.

Neil's obviously struggling to keep up, and Amy waits at the outskirts of the court, waiting as he stumbles forward. He grumbles something about _stupid noodle arms_ that she doesn't quite hear, and she turns toward the smoothie stand once he and their mum have caught up. She digs in her pocket for her stashed allowance, and smiles brightly up at the teenager behind the counter.

"I want a medium strawberry smoothie, please," she chirps, and the girl nods, punching it into her till. "And a large cherry limeade for my brother."

Neil makes a noise behind her, but Amy ignores him, handing the bills over the counter and then accepting the drinks once they're done. "I'll carry this to the car for you," she says with a grin, and he sputters at her.

"You didn't need to—"

.

She can see the red pressure marks on Neil’s arms, now that they're back in the car and the bags are in the trunk. He slurps at his limeade with a smile, beside her in the backseat, and pretends like it’s nothing even though they look really painful. And sure, he promised, but she really did get a _lot_ of clothes, and she feels kind of bad about it.

"I hope it doesn't hurt too bad," she says quietly, taking a sip of her own smoothie. Neil frowns, looking over at her.

"What?"

"Your arms," she clarifies, even though she thought it was obvious. He blinks, and looks down at them for a second.

"Don't worry about it," he says with a little grin, pulling his jacket sleeves back down. "Honestly, I didn't even notice."

Amy decides not to question it, even though they look really painful. "And—thanks for coming," she continues as Mum turns into the dance hall's parking lot. She reaches to squeeze his hand before putting her smoothie in the cupholder. "I'll see you when I get home, okay?"

Neil frowns again, glancing up to their mum and then the building they're parking in front of. Amy watches his face grow confused for several seconds before understanding dawns. He reaches forward to poke their mum in the shoulder, and she turns around.

"Can I stay and watch?" he asks, looking hopeful. "There’s a show coming up, right?"

There's something on Mum’s face that Amy can't read, as she stares at Neil for a long time. "That's fine," she says eventually. "But you know it's a two-hour rehearsal, right?"

"Yeah," Neil says, and his grin is fond as he looks over at Amy. "Fine by me."

.

Practice is just in their rehearsal hall, not on stage yet, and Neil has to curl up against the wall so he won't be in the way. And she expects him to pull out his phone, eventually, because watching their group warm up and drill and practice difficult sections over and over again can't be very exciting. After all, Neil quit step-dancing years ago, when he started shooting lessons.

But he doesn't touch his phone the whole time. He clutches his long-empty limeade cup, and watches Amy and the others dance, and the smile on his face doesn't dim for the entire two hours they're there.

* * *

It’s no secret that Lyle doesn’t like his brother.

Neil's a jackass, and he's everyone's favorite, and he _insists_ that he doesn't know what Lyle's talking about, when he snaps at him about it. He's the pretty twin despite them being identical; he's the smart one even though they get practically the same grades _._ He's the friendly one, the popular one—and more than once, Lyle's thought about shipping himself up to a boarding school in Dublin just so he doesn't have to deal with his _stupid brother_ anymore. He's sick of it. He's sick of being compared, he just—all he wants is to be liked and respected on his own merits. But apparently that's too hard for their classmates, and teachers, and even some of their extended family.

And—at least, that's what he _thought_ , right up until Neil puked all over his bedroom a couple weeks back, and then started acting like a completely different person. He hasn't asked Lyle for a hug yet (for which he's _very_ grateful), but he's seen his brother hugging the _crap_ out of Amy and their parents for no reason at all. He's seen him cancel hang-outs with his friends just so he can come home and help Dad make dinner. And—yeah, okay, Lyle doesn't _like_ his brother, but he knows him well enough to tell when there's something wrong.

That's why, when Neil shows up at his bedroom door tonight, Lyle doesn't blow him off like he usually would.

"Hey," Neil says, peering around his half closed door and waving. "Are you busy?"

A week ago, he would've said yes. He just downloaded a new album, and he's a couple songs deep—his speakers turned up loud enough to shake the desk, just how he likes it. But then he gets a good look at Neil's face—unsure and _scared,_ if Lyle didn't know better; he reaches to pause his music player, spinning his desk chair around to consider Neil.

"What, is the world ending?" he asks, and half-means it as a joke. The Neil he knew three weeks ago would've laughed. The Neil in front of him flinches, just a little, as he steps inside. "I don't even remember the last time you came in here."

"Me neither," Neil says absently, staring around with an alarmingly blank gaze before sitting heavily on Lyle's bed. He plays with his fingers for several seconds, but he doesn't say anything else—and Lyle Dylandy has never been known for his patience.

"So…" he tries, awkwardly, and Neil's head snaps up to stare at him. "Did you have a _reason_ to come in?"

"Sorry," Neil says, all in a rush, like he's scared Lyle will kick him out. "Um, yeah. It's just…"

He trails off again, and Lyle would say something snarky except that he doesn't remember the last time Neil _apologized_ for something. So he crosses his arms protectively over his chest, and slouches a little more into his chair, and waits for Neil to say something that actually makes sense.

"I wanted to say that I'm really sorry," Neil blurts, and Lyle blinks at him. "Um, for…being such an ass, for, uh, the last few years."

Lyle has literally never heard Neil stutter in their entire lives _._ What the _hell_ is happening right now. "O…kay," he says, just to fill the silence. He doesn't know what his face is doing, but Neil blanches, a little, when he glances up to him for a moment.

"I know you don't like me," Neil continues, even more quietly. "And—and I know I can't force you to do anything you don't want to. But…I want to try and do better, if you'll give me another chance. I've been a shit brother, but…"

He swallows, and seems unable to continue. Lyle _stares_ at him. Barely a month ago, they were shouting at each other about this, after their grandparents mixed them up _again,_ but—

But Neil's different, now. He can't put his finger on what it is, but he's—

Lyle's ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe, at least for now. Hell, with Neil apologizing out of nowhere like this, maybe he's finally getting off his high horse and joining the rest of them in the real world.

He doesn't even have to think about it. He'd much rather try and make amends with his stupid brother than leave Amy and his friends behind. "Okay," he says, and it must've taken longer than he thought, because Neil's hands are clenched and shaking in his lap. "Not sure where this came from, but sure. Uh, so long as you don't start crying on me, I'm _not_ ready to handle that right now."

Neil does laugh, then, and he reaches up to wipe at his eyes. Son of a _bitch_. "I'll do my best," he says with a grin, and he meets Lyle's eyes for the first time in the whole conversation. "Um, but please tell me if I do anything stupid, okay? It's—I'm gonna do my best, but I'm not perfect."

Yeah, this is _definitely_ not the brother he knew a month ago; that Neil never would've admitted something like that. "You'd better count on it," he says, and lets his own grin grow across his face. "Gotta wonder where this came from, though. I mean, Mrs. West was giving us shit _yesterday_ in class, right?"

Neil winces, a little. "Yeah," he says, quieter. "I just—I didn't want to say anything until I talked to you about it. That was prob'ly stupid of me."

His hands are pulling into fists again, and he wipes at his eyes before looking up to Lyle. "And…just, with the bomb the other week, it made me—scared, to think about losing any of you. Especially if you and I were…"

He trails off, and wipes at his face, but Lyle thinks he gets it. The news of that near-bombing shook all of them, when Amy almost dragged them to that same mall for her birthday. And—sure, he doesn't _like_ Neil, but it's not like he actually hates him, or wants anything bad to happen to him. "You're a bastard, you know," he says, matter-of-fact, and Neil laughs in surprise. "But you're my brother, too. If you want to try, then…"

He shrugs. _I'd be an ass not to do it too,_ he can't bring himself to say. But then, they've always understood each other a little too well.

Neil's smiling, even though a couple tears are rolling down his cheeks. "Thanks, Lyle," he says, and there's something open and raw about his voice that Lyle hasn't heard in a very long time. "I—I appreciate it, a lot."

"Don't get all mushy on me," he warns, rolling himself a little further away and making a face. "If you're gonna cry, do it in your own room."

Neil's smile gets bigger, and he stands up from Lyle's bed. "Sure thing. But can I…" he hesitates, and Lyle's stomach sinks. "Can I hug you, first?"

 _God,_ why did Lyle get stuck with the weird-as-hell brother? But Neil looks so—worried, almost, like he's scared he's overstepping whatever their new boundaries are, and—well.

He guesses this is probably step one to _Make the Dylandy Twins Friendly Again,_ and it doesn't cost him anything, in the end. So he rolls his eyes, sighing heavily—but then he stands up and steps toward his brother.

Neil's arms are shaking as they embrace, but it's not as awkward as Lyle thought it would be. Neil pulls him close, and buries his face in Lyle's hair, and grips him across the shoulders like he'll never get another chance to do so. And the hug goes on a little longer than Lyle's really comfortable with, but eventually Neil squeezes him one last time and lets his arms drop.

 _Ugh,_ his shoulder's damp. Gross. But Neil's smiling wider, now, and waves a little before stepping out of the room. A moment later, his own door clicks shut, and Lyle sits down heavily at his desk again.

He grabs a clean shirt, gingerly patting at his shoulder with the dirty one until he's sure it's dry. He turns back to his computer quickly, excited to listen to the rest of the album.

But for the rest of the night, and into tomorrow and all the days after, there's a warm feeling lingering in his chest. The memory of Neil's arms around him burns, and the relief on his brother's face is seared into the backs of his eyelids.

 _I want to try and do better._ Maybe, Lyle's ready to admit that he wants to be a better brother, too.

* * *

Even knowing that he’s not the same boy she’s raised for the last fourteen years, Lyndsay’s still jarred by the changes she sees in Neil.

He’s—jumpy, and paranoid. He reaches for the back of his waistband when he startles. Every time they’re out in a crowd, he’s scarily alert, looking at everyone as if they’re a threat. Not once has she seen his shoulders relaxed—at least when he’s awake.

A fear of crowds, she can understand. Hatred of terrorists, she can understand. Even struggling to adjust back to living with his family makes sense, no matter how much it breaks her heart. But…

No twenty-five year old she’s ever met has been this high strung. She remembers her own young adulthood—a good twenty years ago, now. Traveling with her sister in the summer, falling in love with the gangly medical student with the toothy smile. Teaching maths to deaf children in Dublin, and living in a hole in the wall apartment with her then-boyfriend while he finished up school—

Binging TV shows, and daydreaming about having their own kids, and staying up way too late only to deeply regret it in the morning—that's what she remembers of her own twenties. And yes, Neil's life would've been drastically different, scarred by the bombing as he is, but…

But he's just _too_ uncomfortable, here. She thinks she deserves to know why.

She's put in her hearing aids today, because she knows that this conversation will be difficult for him, and asking him to use his second language would be nothing but cruel. Lyle and Amy are out with friends, and Owen's at work, and Lyndsay fidgets on the couch as Neil makes himself lunch in the kitchen.

"Hey, Neil?" she calls, once she sees him moving around more, getting a drink from the fridge. There's a moment of silence before he appears in the doorway, asking "what's up" with a gesture far stiffer than it used to be.

(She was dead for eleven years. She shouldn't be surprised that he's rusty. Why would he have needed to keep up signing when the person he learned it for was—)

"Don't worry about signing—your dad wanted me to brush up on my English today," she says with a little grin, and Neil's brows furrow, his hands faltering. "When your food's ready, would you mind sitting with me?"

"Sure," he says, but he frowns at her for a moment longer before disappearing into the kitchen. Soon enough he's back, setting a steaming bowl of ramen on the coffee table and cracking a soda before sitting close to her on the couch. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering if we could talk a little about—well, what your life was like before," she says, and works to keep her tone light. It doesn't quite work, if the way Neil stiffens is anything to go off of.

"You don't want to hear it," he says, low, almost too low for her to catch. "After you guys…"

He trails off, and hunches into her shoulder a little more. She hesitates before wrapping her arm around him, pulling him even closer. "So you and Lyle survived," she says, gently, but Neil flinches all the same. "Where did you go?"

"Aunt Kathryn took us in," he says, staring at his socks and crossing his arms tighter. "She—since she's local. Everyone decided we shouldn't have to move to Dublin or Limerick, after…"

Lyndsay nods. It makes the most sense, and she knows Kathryn well enough to know that she would've raised the boys as her own. "I may be biased, since she's my big sister," she says with a little smile, "but I'd be willing to bet she raised you just fine. Even if having you and Teresa under the same roof must've been a terror, huh?"

He's quiet for even longer this time. "She did her best," he says eventually. "We weren't…easy to deal with, for a while."

And this makes sense too, no matter how it hurts her heart to hear it. Every one of her children throws themselves full-throttle into every aspect of their lives, and no matter Lyle's aloofness, and Neil's carefree attitude, she knows that the bombing must have all but shattered them both. "She would've understood," she says, squeezing him tight for a moment, and he curls tighter, shoving his face into his knees.

"We…neither…very long," he says quietly, and she misses some of the words entirely as he talks to his lap. "Lyle left for… he didn't want anything to…And I—"

He swallows, and reaches to run a hand through his hair. "I left for space…nineteen."

Lyndsay mentally scratches off the idea that Neil had grown up to be an elevator engineer after college. "You never really told us what you were doing up there," she probes, gently. "Nowadays, going up to space is a big deal—is it more common in a few years?"

"Yeah," he starts, but then he stiffens and twists to stare at her. "I'm sorry," he says suddenly, his eyes wide. "I—I forgot, you can't hear if I'm not facing—"

"I'm able to fill in the blanks," she says with a smile, and squeezes him against her side again. "Don't worry about me."

He's frowning, though, and wriggles enough to be facing her, his feet pulled up underneath him on the couch. Still, he doesn’t release his grip on her hand. "You don't have to treat me like a kid, y'know," he says. "I'm not one."

"Sure," she says with a nod. "But you're still my son, even if you're a little older than you used to be. I think that gives me free reign on spoiling you, right?"

She cuts off the comment about _making up for lost time_ almost too late, but Neil's face twists anyway. "I haven't…" He rubs at his eyes. "I haven't had a parent in eleven years. I'm used to doing things myself."

"Your aunt—"

"She tried," he cuts her off, quietly. "I never really let her help."

Lyndsay squeezes his hand, unsure of what to say to that. She had hoped that the tragedy had brought her boys closer together, but…Neil's making it clear that it only built up more walls around them both. "So, now that I can mostly hear you," she says with a grin, "what were you doing up in space?"

He shrugs with one shoulder, and makes sure his mouth faces her even as he doesn't meet her eyes. "Just grunt work on a transport ship," he says dismissively. "They've been setting up more and more colonies, now that—uh, well, once all three elevators were built. It wasn't anything too exciting, but the pay was good, and…"

He trails off again. "It's not like I had anything keeping me on the surface," he says eventually, and grimaces before looking down and away.

Lyndsay hesitates. The regret is obvious in the set of his shoulders, the tension of his jaw, and the obvious follow-up question would only hurt him more. "Do you know what Lyle was up to?" she asks instead, and he swallows.

"Last I heard, he was going to school for tactical forecasting. I was sending him part of my paychecks, to help, even though he—" here, his voice cracks—"he never replied. But…as far as I know, he was doing okay."

He's curling into himself again, his hands clenching into fists, and she starts rubbing circles into his palm. "You know as well as I do that he would've hated you for pushing," she says quietly. "I doubt there was anything you could've done back then."

"You're right," Neil says, and he makes a concerted effort to uncurl; she can see his face twisted in grief. "But he's my _brother."_

"Well, it seems like you've been doing good work on that here, at least,” she says with a little smile. "Even Amy mentioned how she hasn't heard you guys fighting in over a week, yeah?"

He nods, and squeezes her hand back. "I used to be a jackass, to him," he says. "I didn't realize it until it was way too late. So…I apologized to him, last week. And we're gonna try and do better."

He swallows thickly; she can feel his hand shaking. "Lyle wants to be recognized as his own person," Lyndsay says quietly. "That's all. I think he's probably just as relieved by this as you are, yeah?"

“Yeah,” he says, and some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. “It’s just...it’s stupid,” he says with a little laugh. “After—after _everything_ , pissing off my brother is what I’m scared of? I’m being ridiculous—”

“I don’t think that’s ridiculous at all,” she says with a frown, leaning forward a little. “Your only living family left you behind, back then, but now you have a—a _second chance_ to fix it. I’d be scared of messing it up, too—but I think you’ll be okay.”

Neil stares at her, his eyes wide. “I guess this is a second chance, huh?” he says, more to himself, his gaze wandering as he runs a hand through his hair again. _“Fuck,_ I…”

She watches his face contort through several desperate, raw emotions that she can’t hope to parse, not when she still knows next to nothing about his last life. And sure, she didn’t get most of the answers she wanted today, but there’s some other, sillier, things she wouldn’t mind learning, instead...especially if it’ll put a smile back on Neil’s face.

“ _Please_ tell me you cut your hair shorter as an adult,” she says, and squeezes his hand. “If you were doing physical work, especially in space, wouldn’t it have gotten in the way?”

He looks up at her, and blinks a couple times. “Sorry,” he says, and something of a rueful smile is growing on his face. She rolls her eyes.

“I promise to be around to nag you about it, this time around,” she says, her own lips quirking up into a grin as she reaches to pull him into another hug. “Maybe _now_ , you’ll listen to your mum.”

* * *

Owen’s known for a long time that he doesn’t always think straight, when it comes to his family.

He’s a trauma surgeon. He’s worked long hours in the ER and the OR for decades, saving strangers’ lives. Often, he’s up to his elbows in their blood and viscera, and he’s never once batted an eye. It’s important work, and he’s good at it, and the shock and horror faded years ago, not long after he left his residency.

But then, everything’s different, when it comes to Lyndsay and the kids. When Lyle broke his leg horsing around in third grade, or when Amy sliced her hand open helping in the kitchen last year, he just—he freezes. Lyndsay’s the one to snap him out of it, and get the kids in the car and to the urgent care with a towel over the wound or a shoulder to lean on.

He knows it’s probably not the best kind of reaction, but then, he was always crap at psychiatry rotations. And he’s been planning, somewhere, in the back of his mind to work on it. When he gets the time. When—

Except then Neil woke up, and asked him if he was dead. Except then Neil explained a week later that it was because he was _actually dead,_ and preceded in death by nearly every member of his family, and—

And it’s been a month since that late-night conversation, since he watched his son fall to pieces, but he still feels like he’s processing it. That—that the relief at the hospital the next morning, the fact that they weren’t overwhelmed with trauma patients, was only brought about by Neil. That, by all rights, there should’ve been hundreds of critical patients and too few staff to care for them. That, _by all rights,_ he and Lyndsay and Amy should’ve been among the fatalities—

Neil saved them all, and saved God knows how many others, but Neil is his _son,_ a fourteen-year-old boy who’s just started high school and dotes on his sister and stays up too late playing video games and hates doing his homework—

He knows Lyndsay’s tried talking to him about his last life. He knows Neil lied to them about the circumstances surrounding his death. He knows, without a doubt, that trying to have his own tough conversation with Neil would end in disaster.

But, damnit, Neil is his _son,_ and if he’s twenty-five and already died once, already watched his family fall apart and his brother abandon him and—and—

Then Owen owes this much to him, at least. He’s Neil’s father, even if he’s twenty-five, now. Even if there’s something very, very different about the way he looks at his family, anymore.

“Hey, Dad?” Neil asks quietly, today, and Owen doesn’t have to force the smile as he turns. “Um...can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Owen says, putting his coffee mug down and gesturing for the chair next to him at the table. “What’s on your mind?”

Neil’s hands are shaking, he notices. He doesn’t quite meet Owen’s eyes as he sits down, and begins playing with his fingers. “Um,” he starts, and then swallows. “You—can you—do you have access to nicotine patches? Or stuff like that? As a doctor?”

Owen blinks. Then, he blinks again, and takes another look at Neil. He’s obviously embarrassed, and scared of his reaction, and is only here as a last resort. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why he’s asking.

“What kinds of symptoms are you having?” he asks gently, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table. The static’s trying to grow in his mind, just a little bit, as he tries to imagine what Neil’s lungs must look like. Must _have_ looked like. Before he was killed, eleven years in the future—

Neil flinches. “Headaches,” he says quietly. “Shakes. Short temper. Can’t sleep, hungry all the time.”

It’s practically textbook withdrawal symptoms. Why, then, is Owen having such a hard time thinking of the answer? “They’ve been going on since—you came back?” he asks, and is proud of the way his voice stays level. Neil ducks his head even more, and takes a deep breath.

“Sort of,” he says quietly. “I’ve, um. Been nicking them every so often, from some of the kids at school. So it hasn’t been too bad. But…”

He hesitates, but Owen has no idea what he should even say, here, so he swallows and continues. “I thought—I figured I should probably try and quit. But it’s…”

He trails off again, and this time he doesn’t start back up. “Patches are over the counter,” Owen says eventually. “We might have to adjust the dosage, since you—your _body_ isn’t adult-sized, but it shouldn’t be a problem. How much did you smoke, before?”

Neil grimaces. “Pretty heavily when I was a teenager,” he says, tucking his chin more. “I had to cut back once I went to space, though. Turns out, they got angry about me clogging up the air recyclers.”

He’s still smiling, but Owen can read in his posture clear as day that he’s uncomfortable about it. And even if his anxiety is roiling in his stomach, his children _always_ come first. “I’m not angry, Neil,” he says, leaning forward a little bit, and it’s not even close to a lie. “Half your uncles smoke, too, y’know—I’d be wasting air, trying to tell a Dylandy not to light up.”

He breathes steadily for several seconds. “Okay,” he says, eventually, but he still doesn’t meet Owen’s eyes, and his fingers still twist around each other.

“And, as far as coping mechanisms go, you could definitely do worse,” he says with a little smile. “I’d say a nicotine addiction is downright tame, compared to some of the other stuff you could’ve gotten into.”

He means it as comfort, as a joke, as a way to lighten the mood and convince Neil to relax. But his son’s shoulders only twitch inward a little more as he nods again, and he doesn’t say anything else.

.

He’s not sure what it says about him, that he’s more worried about Neil picking up his old hobby than about him going into nicotine withdrawals.

He brings it up with Owen and Lyndsay over dinner one day, casual. “I was thinking about picking up shooting again,” he says between bites of mashed potatoes, and Lyle slants him a weird look. “Would that be okay?”

Owen blinks, and is thankful for the way Neil blanches, and quickly repeats it in sign for Lyndsay’s benefit. It gives him a few more seconds to think. (Neil’s rusty, out of practice, and defaults to speaking out loud with his mum when he isn’t thinking about it. It makes sense, but it _hurts,_ even if Owen doesn’t know the first thing about how to fix it—)

“I’m not joining up with you,” Lyle says with a frown, and Neil shrugs, looking back to his parents hopefully.

Owen still feels like he’s reacquainting himself with his son, his tics and moods and expressions. He does not know what emotions are behind the current glint in his eye, and it scares him more than is probably rational. “Why?” he asks eventually, and Neil blinks.

“Because it’s fun,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Been kinda bored without it, since I quit.”

He quit maybe six months ago, a few weeks after Lyle did, saying it was no fun without his brother. And sure, it’s reasonable to think that he picked it up again, in his first life, after Lyle moved to Dublin. It’s reasonable, and even maybe expected, because Neil was good— _very_ good—behind that scope. Picking up something comforting and familiar, when the world has turned chaotic and cruel, makes perfect sense.

But there’s something in Neil’s face that gives him pause, even as he looks honestly hopeful at the idea. He’s not sure what to make of it. “You know, you sold your guns back to the range,” he reminds him. “You’ll need to rent until you save up enough to buy them again.”

“That’s fine,” Neil says immediately, energetically, as if relieved that that’s his dad’s only opposition. "So, can I?"

Lyndsay shrugs, and looks at Owen. She doesn't seem to have a problem with it, but then, she was the one who talked him into letting the boys take lessons in the first place. "One of us will need to go with you," he warns, and Neil nods again, his face lighting up.

"How about this weekend? You're not working, right?"

He's right, but Owen wishes he had a little more time to wrap his head around this, figure out what's settling wrong in his gut at the thought of Neil with a gun. A twenty five year old Neil, keeping up with shooting—

(He realizes it, much later. After all, what would a worker on a transport ship in the middle of space need of target practice?)

.

And Neil's good at it, when Owen drives him to the range that weekend.

 _Very_ good. _Incredibly_ good. Leagues ahead of where he was six months ago. Even so, he scoffs after the first round of shots, reeling the paper back in from an improbable distance to see every one of them within the two smallest circles. Even so, he rolls his eyes when the guy at the next lane over stares at him, open-mouthed.

The Neil of last year would've _preened_ at being admired on the range.

"What, you been holding out on us, Dylandy?" the attendant calls, mock-outraged, once he and Owen step out half an hour later.

"Must've absorbed all of Lyle's talent, too," Neil says with a laugh, but it's flippant and distracted as he stares almost absent mindedly at the racks of guns behind barred cabinets. Neil showed a preference for rifles, when he took lessons, before. But the critical eye he's sending over the different makes and models, the guns that all look _exactly_ the same to Owen, makes him uncomfortable enough that he knows he needs to say something.

"Doesn't seem like you need lessons to me, to be honest," the guy says with a raised brow. "But if you wanna—"

"Please," Neil says, maybe a little too quickly, and the guy looks to Owen as he sighs, pulls out his credit card.

"Sure thing, Boss," he says with a grin, and taps on his terminal for several seconds. "Good to have you back."

.

"Neil," he starts, in the car, except then he finds that he can't say anything else.

His son looks happy and at ease, sitting shotgun and waiting eagerly for his coffee at a little shop down the street. (Neil hates the taste of coffee. This _other Neil_ seems to all but survive on it.) "What's up?" his son asks after a few seconds, glancing over, and Owen swallows.

"What were you really doing, up in space?"

He thinks it's a good thing they're in the drive-thru line, because he's not able to pay much attention to the world outside their car, right now. "What?" Neil asks, and he looks honestly confused, turning more fully to look at Owen.

He swallows. "I know it's been eleven years, for you," he says, "but the shooting you just did was _way_ better than anything you've done before now."

"I picked it up again," Neil says, his face twisting a little. "Aunt Kathryn signed me up for lessons, after…"

He trails off, and rubs at his mouth, and doesn't continue. "But you said you left for space when you were nineteen, right?" he presses, and takes several seconds too long to inch up a place in line. "That would've been six years ago."

"Sure," Neil says with a shrug. "But I wasn't in null g _all_ the time. I still liked to practice, it…it's familiar, I guess."

Owen breathes, and watches his son do the same. A sniper's eye, his instructor said once. The patience and focus of a pro. A thirteen year old who wiped the floor with his competition at tournaments.

"Neil," he says, a little raw, and Neil's brows furrow. "Did you join the military?"

Something eases in his chest, he thinks, at the honest surprise that blooms across Neil's face as he barks a laugh. "Oh _god,_ is that what you're worried about?" he says incredulously, a wide, toothy grin growing on his face. "No, Dad, I promise I didn't enlist. I'm pretty sure Aunt Kathryn would've skinned me if I did, yeah?"

This isn't the fake cheer he's seen Neil put on, the one that doesn't look right on his teenaged face. This is—this is genuine. Even if it's not quite the same smile that he used to wear, _before,_ he has no doubt in his mind, here, that Neil's telling the truth.

He lets out a breath, and allows his jaw to relax. He pulls up another spot in line. "Glad to hear it," he says with a smile, and reaches to squeeze his son's shoulder, and doesn't say anything more about it.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm like 96% sure it's not canon that neil smokes, but i got it into my head at some point and it's my headcanon now so uhhh *sunglasses gif* deal with it


End file.
